And truthfully, was Peggy Schott even healthy? Did she know the God who was “giving her the answers” wasn’t what it actually was, her deciding the way things needed to be?

Or should I sit down with Colt, report this, and ask for protection so nothing would happen to my son, and if it did, they’d know right where to look?

(Though, Merry already knew, so that last was rhetorical.)

“Cher,” Merry called as his phone rang.

I realized I was looking at him but not seeing him. I focused to watch him pull his phone out of his back pocket.

Distractedly, I noted that since the last time I’d seen his phone, the screen had cracked.

“Shit,” he muttered, sliding his finger on the cracked screen and looking at me. “Gotta take this, baby.”

I didn’t say anything. I might be focused on him, but my mind was still clogged with everything he’d told me.

“Merrick,” he said into his phone.

My mind cleared when what was coming off him slammed into me in a way it was a wonder my body didn’t jerk.

“Where?” he barked ferociously. “When?” he asked, only a little less sharply. But his voice deteriorated significantly when he asked, “How long?”

He listened. I watched him do it.

Then he said, “Fuck. I’m with Cher. I get her and Ethan sorted, I’m there.”

He took his phone from his ear and ordered tersely, “In your car. I’m followin’ you to your mom’s, then I’m followin’ you and Ethan home.”

Oh no.

What now?

“What’s goin’ on?” I asked.

“In your car, Cher,” he commanded, then moved. Starting in a prowl that fed into a jog, he went to his truck.

Sensing I needed to do what he told me to do, though I’d do that anyway because I needed to go get my kid, I got in my car.

I pulled out and headed down the alley. Merry’s lights already on, he pulled out right on my ass.

He stayed on my ass all the way to Mom’s.

I jumped down from my car and he was at my side.

“Merry, what’s goin’ on?” I snapped, hiding anxiety behind anger as he took my hand and yanked me toward the hood of my car, his attention not on me but on the night.

That was not good.

“Let’s get inside,” he ordered.

“Merry—”

He looked down at me, his face set in stone. “Fast.”

Fuck, fuck…shit.

We got inside, fast, but I didn’t have a choice since Merry all but dragged me there.

By the time he closed the front door, Merry had rearranged his features, but not by much.

Mom took one look at us and came right off the couch, face lighting up, mouth smiling, eyes darting to Merry, Merry’s hand in mine, to me, then back to Merry.

“Well, Garrett, this is a lovely surprise,” she declared.

“Yo! Merry!” Ethan greeted, jumping up from an armchair, his face just as surprised and excited as his gramma’s.